Graceling Two and a Half: Even More Grace
by Cloudemeh
Summary: The continuation of Tirsmynkl's Graceling II: Revenge of the Grace, wherein the Evil Kings wreak havoc, leaving a gaggle of gruesome Gracelings to save Graceland, all without the help of Bruce Campbell. They gonna make it? Not a chance.
1. THE LAB

There was a dark room, in a house in a country in a world that felt particularly grateful that it wasn't one in a universe of romance novel, that belonged to a girl. This girl (in her late teenage years, but still prime age for High Romance-Fantasy-type adventures, because she wasn't yet eighteen and therefore a stuffy adult) sat at her computer in thought.

She was thinking because she was bored.

_I am so bored. _

"Hey, girl." Her friend called from the hallway, "You looked bored."

The girl was astounded, and turned in her totally awesome swivel chair to address her companion, "What a coincidence, because I totally am!"

"What can I say, I'm a mindreader. Hey, listen, I need you to help me with something." She glanced back into the hall, which the girl knew because her friend had jammed her head into the opening between door and wall like an ostrich seeking shelter, although the girl would never mention it, because that would be rude.

"You look like an ostrich."

Well, never mind then.

"Hadn't noticed. Anyway, are you busy right now? Obviously not, because you're bored."

"Actually," Said the girl, remembering all the fun things she could be doing now instead of helping her friend, "I kinda have some homework that I should probably..."

"Don't be absurd! Everyone knows that going high school doesn't require attendance, work, or suffering fools! It's fun time to goof off with friends and save the world and eat ice cream, and stuff."

The girl sighed, her ploy having failed, "No, I'm not particularly busy. I just got back from bringing economic stability to Atlantis, and the Apocalypse isn't until next week."

"Awesome. Here, have this fanfiction."

"What?"

But her friend had disappeared.

"Actually, she's still there."

"I totally am."

Nope.

Disappeared.

* * *

TOTALLY AWESOME BLATANT TRANSITION OF SETTING

* * *

Gerp glanced around a bit nervously, and asked, "Did anyone else feel that?"

"Feel what?" Rodle replied, stretching a rubber band around his thimble-bearing fingers. The fool was developing his so-called greatest invention in attempts to woo Padwyn, but Gerp knew that it was his shoes that ran on linux that would truly win her over. Chicks dig freeware, or so he'd been told.

"As if there was a..."

"If you say, 'disturbance in the force', I will stab you in the soul." Cloudemeh told him from the other side of the table, where she sat with a sock on one hand a marker in the other.

"Who are you?" The Graceling of Smart demanded, his binary eye scrolling past like Internet Explorer on drugs.

The Graceling of Biology added to his query, "And why do you keeping making dumb references to computers? No one thinks it's funny. No one."

"I did..." The Smartling of Grace hung his head in shame. As he should, the nerd.

"I liked our old narrator better," Rodle lifted his hand to his best friend's shoulder, "_She was much nicer._"

"Yeah, me too."

"Irrelevant!" Cloudemeh interjected, "This one is cheaper." Of course, she only said this because not only was she generally uneducated, but also because she had her hand in a mousetrap and was feeling rather irritable.

"Spontaneous sadism!" Gerp announced, "What an unusual phenomenon!"

"Not really, at least in certain parts of the Northeast region of America."

Rodle winced, "That looks painful."

And it was. So. Very. Much.

The annoyance that was Cloudemeh struggled with the mousetrap, Gerp taking notes, as Padwyn walked in, munching on a popsicle in what she figured was a suggestive manner, pretending to be unaware of her actions because she was _far too pure to engage in lewd acts on her own. _Mostly she just looked silly, since it was really cold in the castle-labs, because both laboratories and castles are generally below average temperatures.

This is because castles are large and usually constructed of stone, which isn't a very good choice in heat conduction unless coupled with another material used as insulation on the inside of a building. Drafts are common by necessity, and even rugs can't really do much since stone is slow to warm and cool. Labs tend to be more purposeful, because lower temperatures have less risk of

"HEY! PAY ATTENTION!" Padwyn demanded, "This is MY SCENE."

Speaking of scenes, Padwyn had deviated from her normal edgy attire, and wore a tank top with an oversized plaid shirt under an oversized jacket and shorts of ripped jean over mismatched leg-warmers stuffed into boots stuffed into rubber shoes with each individual toe encased (you know, the ridiculously expensive kind, which is kind of strange because they look pretty cheap). She had picked up some of the Science-Gracelings' habits.

"Anyway, guys... hey, who's that?"

"This is the new writer." Rodle explained, trying ever so much to be helpful.

"She's kind of mean." Gerp added, refusing to be outdone, "Like the new narrator."

"I don't really care." Padwyn admitted.

"Oh."

"What I do care about, is that I haven't been to the mall in two days. I'm getting bored."

Both of the friends looked at each other, then Padwyn, then each other.


	2. THE MALL

"How long has she been in there?" Cloudemeh asked, slurping a smoothie as annoyingly loud as was possible.

Gerp replied without looking up, "...Probably about an hour and forty-two minutes and thirty-five seconds and a half." He knew this because he was smart.

"Huh. Long time."

"Yup." Rodle nodded.

A nervous shopkeep poked Gerp's shoulder, "Uh, excuse me, sirs? Could you please return the merry-go-round horses to the carousel?"

The two science-men Gracelings stopped, and looked at him.

"When we're done." Rodle promised.

Gerp nodded, "We need them, for science."

"Uh... but..."

"Don't worry about it," Cloudemeh slung her arm around his shoulder, leading him away, "There are so many other fun things to worry about. Like koalas."

"Koalas?" They heard him say, voice muted by distance, "I think they're more cute than terrifying."

"Incorrect, sir! You see, a koala..." And they were gone.

Padwyn chose that exact moment to reveal herself from the depths of Hot Topic, tendrils of opaque incense-smoke twisting apart as she exited. It was kind of spooky.

"Hey, we should go, because I am totally done here."

Rodle glanced to his comrade, with whom he shared a look of unease. For you see, he was torn. On the one hand, he wanted to fulfill his tart-of-a-crush's every desire, in vain hope of impressing her. On the _other hand,_ he wasn't an asshole, and ditching the strange female with weird fluffy hair would definitely be a decidedly "dick move".

However, the narrator had other plans.

**Hey, you guys, look. Over there.**

Gerp glanced around, confused, "I am a bit confused."

Rodle nodded, "Me too. You're speaking without quotation marks. What does that even mean?"

Padwyn decided it was her turn to contribute a worthwhile point, for once in her life, "Are you talking in our minds, or what?"

**Is this really the time?**

Gerp placed his hands on his hips in a decidedly effeminate manner, "Well, yes! How is the audience supposed to keep track of anything? Really!"

**Oh, look, an Evil King. **

Collectively, all three of those gathered turned their heads to see that, indeed, a scruffy-looking man was standing by a stand in the middle of the wide hall, much like a booth where one could buy watches or soaps from the middle east. But the sign painted upon his cart told of none of those things. Instead, it declared:

INTERESTING IN AN EVIL KINGDOM OF YOUR OWN? ASK ME HOW!

The man turned his dark-haired head to notice our protagonists (well, main characters, anyway), and rose an eyebrow.

"What, are you guys heroes, or something?"

The Sciencelings of Grace leapt to their feet, tearing off their incredibly attractive lab-coats to subject the man to their (or so they thought) entirely awesome and ridiculous superhero costumes, both comprised of blue leotards with black accents and boots/gloves, but Gerp's bearing a test-tube sigil upon his chest, Rodle instead wearing a stylized bear.

"Told you it was a bear." Rodle stuck out his tongue.

Gerp rolled his eyes, exasperated, "So sue me, it looked like an ocelot."

Meanwhile, Padwyn contemplated this latest development.

_OH, my god, is he hot. Dang, that boy is fiiiine. No, wait, must take control... of hormones! Remember, Padwyn, even if I AM a liberated female with every right to enjoy the aesthetic appeal of men, no one likes a slut! Well, except Hamilton, but she doesn't really count... Anyway, I've got to focus... WHO AM I KIDDING, I'm the MAIN CHARACTER. Even if he does have a girlfriend she'll conveniently die for me to take her place. _

"Uh, hey..." The scruffy dude backed away, hands up, "You appear to be under the entirely false impression that I am an Evil King. I'm not."

"So what ARE you, then! No good guy dresses that well and has a roguish smirk that attractive without being evil!" Gerp accused.

The accused looked half offended, half flattered, and entirely confused. "Uh, I'm gay."

_NOT FOR LONG. _Padwyn raged.

"Oh, sorry, then." Rodle offered his hand for a shake, "What's your name? ...And why are you working at an Evil King booth in the mall?"

"Zax," Zax answered, "And it's because I am enslaved by an Evil King, because of my Grace."


	3. THE MALL, STILL

"Your _Grace?_" Padwyn queried, struck by the uncomfortable notion that this might require actual character development.

Zax nodded, crossing his arms, "My Grace. It's very..." He looked away, then back again, not at all suspiciously, "..._unique._"

"Me too! I totally have a unique Grace too!"

"Is it the Grace of Inconvenient Interjections? Because that's not unique at all," Cloudemeh inconveniently interjected, "I see a lot of people with that."

"What is your problem?" Padwyn followed Zax's example as her arms crossed, "You keep running off when the plot picks up and then coming back whenever you feel like it. Honestly, I think this story would be better off without you."

Now, Padwyn wasn't the only one who'd come to the same conclusion, since Rodle and Gerp both appeared to be embarrassed and relieved. Zax mostly looked bored.

"You... you think so...?"

"Oh, please don't be sad," Rodle said, awkwardly patting her shoulder, taking one for the team, "I don't think that, and neither does Gerp."

Gerp nodded enthusiastically.

"No, no, I see how it is. I see now." The annoying girl waved her hand at Rodle's and slouched away, kicking cans out of her path with all of the dejection of a worm too scrawny to be used as bait (because, honestly, there's not much point to a worm except to be eaten), "...Someone really needs to clean up this cafeteria. This is just ridiculous. What food court uses canned foods anyway?" She picked one up, "...canned beets. Canned beets? What the hell?"

Suddenly, she remembered she'd... uh, left the oven on. Yes. That's it.

"Oh, dang! I left the oven on! Gotta go!"

And then she was gone, leaving the now-foursome alone with themselves... and the narrator.

**I think it's about time we got this show on the road, huh?**

"We're in a fanfiction of a fanfiction," Zax pointed out, "We're not exactly theatre-grade material."

**Shut up. Who spells 'theater' like that, anyway?**

"I'm British, arse-butt."

**I thought you were gay?**

Zax covered his face in his hands, "I swear, if any of you follow through with that set-up, I'll kill you."

**Oh, really?**

"I'm a violent maniac, what do you want from me?"

**To stop scaring the other main characters and detracting from the spooky cliff-hanger I'm building. **

"Really? Isn't this chapter a bit short to end it here?"

Gerp shrugged, "I dunno, there's no set length, or anything."

"True dat." Rodle seconded.

Padwyn motioned towards the door, "Hey, guys, speaking of last chapter, we should totally get out of here, like I wanted to."

And so, with nothing else to do, the men followed the insipid girl out, and into the parking lot.

* * *

Meanwhile, again, King Bulp sat alone in his darkened throne room, leaning back into the red-wine colored cushions, his expression frosty as-

"Well, actually, I'm in the kitchen, making a sandwich."

**None of you people know how to work suspense. At all. **

Bulp sliced the lunchmeat-stuffed bread into two triangles with a knife, "It's hardly my fault you're trying to work this story into something it's not. I think the previous narrator-"

**THAT IS **_**IT!**_

And, suddenly, the narrator materialized before him, his long crimson hair plunging past his broad, black-cloaked shoulders, his eyes glinting like shards of black, glassy volcanic rock.

"I think it's called obsidian." Bulp pointed out, increasingly terrified.

"I don't recall _asking you._" The Narrator replied, grinning a fanged smile as he withdrew a sword from within the folds of his shadowed mantle.

The Evil King backed away, hands up and full of sandwich, "Uh, hey, did I mention I'm the main villain of this story?"

The Narrator's smile tugged into a wide smirk, "Not anymore. I think it's about time this story started developing a _plot_."

**DUN DUN DUN.**


	4. THE LAB, AGAIN

RODLE enters the CASTLE LAB from S. R., glancing about (suspicious/confused).

RODLE: Okay, something's different.

GERP and ZAX are playing MONOPOLY on the low coffee table while sitting on their knees, PADWYN sitting on the couch, painting her nails with a DAY GLO ORANGE PAINT MARKER.

GERP: [glances up] What makes you say that?

ZAX: [moving his piece] Redding Railroad!

GERP: [looking back] Dang it.

RODLE walks further into the ROOM, looking at everything (suspicious).

RODLE: First of all, I appear to be following stage directions.

ZAX: Big deal.

RODLE: ...and second, it's impossible to confuse who's talking.

EVERYONE except PADWYN looks at RODLE as if he's on to something.

RODLE: [looking at AUDIENCE] ...and then there's those guys.

EVERYONE looks at AUDIENCE.

PADWYN goes back to doing her nails.

GERP: [leans over to RODLE, who has crouched next to him, still looking at

AUDIENCE, whispers:] _How long have they been there?_

RODLE: [whispers:] _I don't know._

ZAX: (mildly annoyed) More importantly, what are _we _doing here?

GERP: [looking at him, still leaning next to RODLE] Whaaaat are you talking about?

RODLE: [pushes GERP out of RODLE'S face and back into GERP'S seat]

GERP: Oof!

ZAX: (exasperated) _Why in the name of Elvis _are we sitting around here dong nothing? I thought you guys were supposed to be 'saving the world', or something!

GERP and RODLE: [glance at each other, stare for a moment, then turn back to ZAX]

RODLE: Well, of _course _we're going to save the world.

GERP: We're working on it right now!

THE BASEMENT...

VELOCIRAPTOR MECH and BEAR MECH are playing FOOZE BALL.

THE CASTLE LAB...

GERP: It's a very complicated, scientific process. You probably wouldn't understand.

ZAX: (sarcastic) Right.

GERP: (brightly) Yes.

RODLE: BUT ENOUGH FOOLING AROUND... [grabbing RODLE and dragging him towards the door by the collar] OUR SURLY COMRADE IS CORRECT. WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO WASTE! [heading downstairs, to THE BASEMENT]

ZAX: [glances at PADWYN and shrugs, standing and pulling on his SENSIBLE SHOES before following]

-beat-

PADWYN: [glances up] ... ... ... [sighs and stands, putting her marker away] Guys? Hey, guys! [chases after them out the door as the stage lights fade to black] Pay attention to me!

MEANWHILE, ELSEWHERE...

THE NARRATOR sits on a THRONE OF SKULLS, painting his nails with a BLACK SHARPIE.

THE NARRATOR: This is extremely uncomfortable.

EX-KING BULP: [kneeling before THE NARRATOR, acting as a human FOOTSTOOL] Trade you.

THE NARRATOR: [glancing down at EX-KING BULP] Nope.

EX-KING BULP: [sighs]

THE NARRATOR: Now, onto business.

EX-KING BULP: Finally.

THE NARRATOR: No, don't get up. [plants his feet more firmly]

EX-KING BULP: Oof!

THE NARRATOR: -I simply meant that I think it's time we get the plot rolling. I have a little idea I think will work just fine.

EX-KING BULP: (strained) [twisting his head to glare at THE NARRATOR] And what's that, pray tell?

THE NARRATOR: [smirking] And ruin the surprise? [laughs maniacally as the lights fade to black]

EX-KING BULP: Ending a scene inconclusively is bad writing.

THE NARRATOR: SHUT UP.


End file.
